Sleeping Through A Thunderstorm
by IWantToRemainNameless
Summary: Where's the fairy tale of the sociopath and the golden boy?


Dear Diary,

today, I am going to be telling you the truth. The cold, brutal truth cause I'm just that drunk.

Normally, I wouldn't even consciously know, but now all those suppressed epiphanies and truths are coming back to me. They make me twistedly happy.

I pretended I didn't notice. They pretended they didn't know. I know they know, but I'm not sure if they're aware of that. That I do see the sympathy and fear in their eyes, like I have CAUTION in neon letters surround me, like a halo.

I lie and let my (false) innocent expression say 'I don't know why' and I let them lie when their eyes say, 'We believe you. We trust you.'

I wanted control. I needed control. Over everything, anything and especially anyone. But I wasn't alone; many of my cousins found their coping mechanisms for control that they'll never truly posses.

But none of them were right. I didn't want to starve myself like Dom did, or see things like Lucy still does, or bring a blade to my wrist like Freddie used to, or drink excessively like James. They were all wrong because, as we soon found out, their coping mechanisms took control over them, not vice versa like intended. I wanted to tell them it would happen, but their short-lived euphoria kept me silent. To be honest, the generation before ours was so great- we were bound top be fuck-ups.

No, I used words and actions. I used the prettiest words I knew and told people what they wanted to hear. I was liked. I told people blunt, ugly truths that were supposed to linger in the air but never be said- because I was their loyal friend. I was hated. I stood and watched as people hurt others, themselves or even were being hurt without interfering. I was remorseless.

But, at the end of the day, it all came back to me. I was the centre of the universe. I was important and significant.

When I started attending real parties at the ripe age of 15, I was seen as naive. I used that to my advantage. Once, for example, I found a girl crying in the corner. She was only 16. Her boyfriend was upstairs with another girl. I told her the truth: she should get revenge. She stopped sniffing and agreed, and for the next two hours we were talking and planning.

By 3am she declared there to be a connection between us, one she had evidently conjured up in her own mind. I was proud of myself on a new level; within five hours I had met a stranger and turned her emotionally dependent on me. That was a sign of power. But soon was the end, the 'fall down'.

Now that she was dependent on me, I get to take it all away. Break down the pieces I had put together. In my opinion, it was an adrenaline rush, the best part.

So as she said 'thank you' I stood abruptly. Curious, she followed me. She followed me right to the front door, where she stopped and I continued walking. I looked back once, and a new wave of tears were streaming down her pretty face. I left feeling satisfied.

However, I've only ever manipulated my family on a smaller scale; they were all capable of causing their own mental breakdowns. On some level, I'm proud of that. On another, they're all a thriving opportunity, as a group and individually.

Here's a fun memory- occasionally it would come back to me as a dream or nightmare, I'm not really sure which one to call it:

I was in my bedroom at home, reading an advanced Muggle novel. I had just turned sixteen, and being at the age of consent introduced me to a whole new level of control with already-vulnerable loners.

I heard footsteps pound up the stairs and head towards my door, although I thought nothing of it. There was a knock at my door and even though I didn't answer they entered anyway.

It was Vic, looking as fucking perfect as ever. She irked me for being flawless.

Vic sat on the foot of my bed, wringing her hands. "Rose?" She whispered, looking up. I didn't look at her though; I wanted to see her plead for my attention. "Rose." She repeated more firmly. Although that wasn't enough.

I continued to let my eyes skim the pages until she stood up and loomed over me.

"Rose." ... "ROSE!" That was it. Making sure my expression didn't give away any sign of amusement, I stared up at her with raised brows.

"Why?" She muttered, although I didn't know what about. A lot of my actions were worthy of a 'why'. "Rose?" I pursed my lips and pure rage and anger contorted her expressions and body. Her fists clenched, her knuckles turned white, her face red and I was completely satisfied.

She muttered something incoherent under her breath, as if testing out the words. Then, she looked at me with cold eyes. "YOU'RE A PSYCHOPATH, ROSE!" Wrong: I'm a sociopath- or so my doctors say. She looked at me like she had revealed a secret, something I didn't know.

I wanted to laugh in her face, but kept my calm exterior. "Vic, there's something wrong with everybody. Aren't you just happy you're aware of my... issue? If anything, you should be worrying about your poor sister." I said the words casually, but in reality they were carefully thought out and filtered.

I knew Vic didn't know about Dom's eating disorder, but not a lot of people did. After all, it was slowly escalating, and I knew any day know it was just going to snap and destroy her life.

_Maybe I should've warned her._

"What do you mean?" She spat. I looked at her innocently.

"I'm just saying we have bigger problems in this family than me. But if she hasn't told you..." I trailed off.

She stared at me, disgusted. Then, she stormed off, slamming every door possible.

I won.

After that it became common knowledge in my family that I was a clinical sociopath. But to me it wasn't that bad- it was a excuse for my lack of empathy. I just wished to tell my whole family that they were wrong; kindness and smiles wouldn't get them anywhere. Everyone in my generation doesn't realise this because they look up to our parents and aunts and uncles and see community and love.

Why don't they realise that their success involved a battle and people dying? It wasn't all smiles and teamwork so they should stop acting like it was. People were killed- close family was murdered.

So why am I telling you this now? Why have I became that intoxicated?

I'll tell you; I've done a bad thing. Worse than everything I have mentioned because those will help everyone in the long-run.

No, those three bottles of pure vodka (how am I not dead?) on my floor are because of Scorpius.

Scorpius. Scorpius Malfoy. Scor. Scorp.

I love him. I am in love with him. He loves me. He is in love with me.

lovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelovelo

**LOVE TOOK AWAY THE CONTROL. I DIDN'T CHOOSE TO LOVE HIM. LOVE, YOU TOTALLY FUCKED ME OVER. YOU RUINED EVERYTHING I FUCKING WORKED FOR.**

And the worst thing? I don't wish I didn't love him.

But that's not the bad thing. See, I've become so good at manipulating people that it's natural now. Ergo, I could do it accidentally. So, effectively, I could've tricked him into loving me. That's more likely to be possible that not.

If this is true, I'm practically at my knees for him. I am 100% in deep shit. Because what if he realises what I've done?

He'll realise that he doesn't love me. Then, after comprehending everything, he'll loathe me. Instinctively, he'll scoff at the sight of me, his body will burn with rage at the thought of me.

I won't be able to cope with that. He'll go off with another girl, he'll kiss her and his hands will skim her body, he'll make love to her- make love cause he means it. He. Loves. Her.

She won't be Scorpius, yet I know I'll feel bad whenever I try to screw her over. But on that note, would I want to screw her? She's making him happy, after all... I want him to be happy, even if not with me.

**THAT CAN'T HAPPEN. HE NEEDS TO REALISE WHAT HE FEELS BEFORE EVERYTHING GOES WRONG. WE'LL BOTH BOW OUT GRACEFULLY.**

But... but I love him nonetheless...

Does love go away like a crush does? I don't know; I've only ever heard fairy tale endings, where they both love each other. Where's the fairy tale of the sociopath and the golden boy?

Well fuck.

Seriously. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck. Fuck you, Scorpius. Fuck you, future Mrs. Malfoy. Fuck you, love. You never do anything for the good. Fuck me.

Maybe I should try to separate myself from him. That way, I might be able to- I don't know- bring my unnecessary love down a notch, and he might be able to realise he doesn't love me.

Do I need help again? I don't think should even bother with that shit again. Especially since Lisa fucking quit on me last year, which taught me not to be emotionally dependent on anyone, cause she took all that away. Guess what? I'm dependent on him.

Speaking of which, why am I even doing this diary? It was her idea, but now she's in fucking Africa riding bloody elephants.

I'm not that person anymore. Varied opinions were contributed, some saying that I was a psychopath, some saying I was incurable. I wasn't a psychopath and I was 'curable'- whatever that meant. I wasn't anything special, I was a 'common.' There was four types of sociopaths, yet I was a 'common.' That meant I was recognizable by my lack of conscience.

On the bright side, I wasn't a murderer or a baby Hannibal Lecter. Either way I got help immediately. I went to therapy and told the therapist what they wanted to hear, then I was handed over to Lisa. She saw right through me with a smirk, and whilst that should've annoyed me it didn't, and I opened up. We went through all types of therapy possible and I was on meds.

Personally, I thought it was all a placebo, but it worked anyway. The doctors couldn't stress enough that I wasn't a psychopath, I wasn't born this way. I knew this of course, it was my control mechanism.

For a while I was fine, but now something's happening. I don't even know what. I want to cry and shout and hurt people again. They should be as low as I am. No, they should be lower, I need to be superior. Oh fuck.

Diary, I don't think therapy will help me now.

Yours, Rose.


End file.
